Dead Inside
by Weezila
Summary: What good is communicating without words if nothing is ever said? He'd had this conversation with his son so many times before it was almost routine... but somehow he never said what Dick needed to hear the most. And sometimes, dry eyes with a dead look are far scarier than tears.


**Hello Internet.**

**Don't know WHERE this came from…**

**Really, I just write down these little lines I come up with that I really like and might use later, and was reading this story that was about Robin and super-depressing (so of course I loved it) but found that it was missing an element of hopelessness that is just so delicious in fanfiction writing, and came up with the little tidbit: **_**"He didn't cry anymore. Not for a long time."**_** Which I ****really**** thought would go perfectly with that story particular story (because I'm a freak and like to edit things while I read them), but… yeah, not my story so…**

**And I really, really liked this sentence so I went to write it down and started thinking about ways it could fit into some of my other stories and tried to flesh out what would happen after and before it to see if it'd match anywhere and then…**

**This happened. **

**Oh well, enjoy!**

**0000000000000**

He had been harsh.

Too harsh.

Even for him.

A failed mission? Yes. Robin at fault? Yes. The end of the world? Hardly.

And he _denied_ it when Flash called him melodramatic. Stupid speedster. It was worse when he was actually right.

Bruce climbed the steps to Dick's room, waiting for the sound of tears to reach him, waiting for the music of the old jazz songs Dick loved to listen to when he was upset, waiting for the sound of banging on the walls as Dick jumped here and there trying to drown out his thoughts with complex acrobatics.

He waited, but it never came. Even as he approached his son's room, he waited to hear a sound, to gage what mood he'd be in… but nothing came.

They'd had this conversation before—many times in fact—the _'I'm too hard on you and you're not serious enough but we do it because we love each other'_ talk, as well as many other arguments about each other's flaws that only helped served to strengthen them in the end.

This time felt different though.

Something about the way Robin didn't even look upset when he walked away from Batman's scolding speech, just… empty. It was something about the way the boy didn't even try to argue, but actually agreed he'd messed up. Even if it was his fault, Dick Grayson did not take scolding lying down. No insult or jibe or actual criticism from Batman to kids at school to League members went without an immediate denial and list of reasons to counter. That was just the way Dick worked, truth or not.

" _You've failed this time. You've failed your team and your mission as Robin, and _me_ by acting so rashly, so stupidly, do you understand? Don't do it again- failure is not an option." _

"… _yes sir." _

Those simple words were far louder than the yelling he often did, or the complaining or arguing. Bruce had been prepared for a fight, not whatever it was _that_ was. Dick had walked away without saying anything else, and his own words came echoing back.

An hour later—IF Batman ever regretted something—he would have been regretting his word choice.

He knocked on the silent door to Dick's room and opened it a fraction.

Robin had his head cradled on his arms, resting on his desk. He wasn't even crying, shoulders motionless as if he weren't even breathing, simply resting there quietly.

It was unexpected, and for someone who lived off information and being prepared for all and every situation, it was unsettling for Bruce to say the least.

"Dick?" he sighed hesitantly. It unnerved him that his son didn't cry anymore. He used to, when he woke from a nightmare or after one too many weeks of hard fighting, tragedy, and little to sleep. Those combinations would make anyone break down after a day, but the little bird could withstand it nearly as long as Batman himself, lasting weeks and weeks until he finally started to break down.

But he didn't cry anymore. Not for a long time.

Dick straightened up and turned to look at his father. He didn't hesitate like he would if he wanted to avoid this conversation and his eyes weren't red or even slightly reflective the way they would be if he'd been crying and simply covered it up. He truly hadn't cried, and strangely enough that only made Bruce feel even worse.

His crystal blue eyes were dead looking. And it was definitely a thousand times worse than tears.

It reminded him of his own pale blue eyes when he looked in the mirror.

He sighed heavily and took a seat on the bed, Dick's eyes following him carefully. "You know why I act like that, right?" He said calmly. He usually started this conversation this way… but this time he couldn't go on. It wasn't about getting Dick to understand him anymore, he already knew him as well as he knew himself. It was… about something more this time.

"Of course." Dick responded earnestly. "You want me to be safe." It didn't even sound false, which only made it more of a lie to Bruce's ears- because it was a lie Dick honestly believed.

"Yes, that's part of it."

But there was so much more.

He did it because he—the god damned Batman—was terrified out of his wits his son was going to get hurt. He did it because he was afraid to be alone again, more frightened than he'd ever been before, even as a small child watching his parents die in front of him. He was so, so afraid.

But he couldn't ever say it.

Because he was The Batman.

And as strong as the Batman was, if the words of fear were ever spoken aloud- if the fear itself was acknowledged- it would be his undoing.

Dick's blue eyes softened imperceptibly, and Bruce knew he understood. He didn't know if he hugged his son, or if Dick hugged him, but they were suddenly embraced. He was comforting, but also being comforted, and it seemed odd for a father-son relationship. He should be taking care of _him, _not the other way around.

But it was what it was. He was just as broken as he'd broken his son, and was terrified he'd lose him because of it. Because he'd grown dependant on the comfort and the love he'd never known before he met the tiny, blue-eyed gypsy who loved to love and who loved to fly and loved to be alive in a way Bruce didn't realize could be possible.

So _bright_, so beautiful was the little angel fate had given him.

He only hoped he hadn't broken him with harsh words and strict care. He could only hope, and could only pray Dick knew he did it because that's what he did to show he cared. It was all he _could_ do.

"I know." Dick mumbled, pulling away and sitting beside him. "I know." He sighed again. They didn't need words anymore to know that Dick knew what was racing through Bruce's mind, and to know that Bruce knew Dick understood and still hated it.

Not hated really, was just… _disappointed_.

Somehow that was worse.

He—billionaire playboy, world's greatest detective, and the night incarnate—was not used to feeling not good enough. But all the signs were there: Dick was no longer upset by his lack of outward emotion, but resigned and accepting of it to the point where he was just disappointed now. He expected it now.

Bruce hated it.

He wanted to be more, to be the everything that everyone assumed he was… but fact of the matter was that he was human.

He was flawed.

_This_ was his flaw, and it had the adverse side effect of hurting those he loved most, even if everything else he did he did because he loved them in the first place.

Irony was _not_ his friend.

But if being open was a flaw, and he was flawed anyway… then he could deal. Just this once.

"I'm sorry." He said. It surprised him how much he meant it.

Dick's head snapped around, his vibrant blue eyes wider than normal with surprise. Batman didn't apologize. Bruce rarely did, and never in the sincere and totally hopeless, deadened voice that fit better on someone on death row than a successful man and mighty hero.

Dick's eyes filled with tears.

"_That…_ I didn't know." He mumbled leaning onto his father's shoulder and letting the tears fall silently. Bruce didn't speak, with something lodged in his throat that felt painfully like his heart. He wrapped one hand silently around the young teen's shoulders and just sat there, overwhelmed and totally lost for a moment.

Perhaps some things need to be said, Bruce realized. Their wordless communication was a comfort to him… but not to Dick… talkative as he was. It symbolized a deep connection that meant the world to both of them, but perhaps that connection was useless if the communication behind it was wordless too.

He'd assumed Dick knew. Of course he knew most of it… but not all. Some things just needed to be said.

What good did it do to be able to communicate without words when nothing was said anyway?

"I'm sorry." He said again, because it needed to be said, and hard as it was damn it he was going to _say it_ and make sure Dick heard. It came out strangled. Which… was new for him.

Dick said nothing, but his hand tightened around Bruce's.

Wordless communication.

But it was ok.

There were no words for love anyway.


End file.
